


Tap Against The Glass (But I'm Not Coming Out)

by astrea_vita



Series: Big Houses [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Gets a Hug, Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Canon-typical Alcohol Consumption, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Arrangement (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Roman Britain, it's not canon compliant but it's not canon non-compliant?, vague hand-wavy history, vague hand-wavy magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24285049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrea_vita/pseuds/astrea_vita
Summary: "It would appear," Aziraphale mumbled, something cautious and frail twitching in the corner of his mouth, "that I am at your mercy.""So you are," Crowley drawled, as if he had any idea what he was going to do about it. "Right. Well," he said when Aziraphale didn't offer anything else. "Since you're -" he made a stilted gesture, "now my prisoner and all, I guess I'd better, um, march you back to my... demonic lair. Before anybody else shows up and gets ideas about trying to steal my catch.""I suppose you must."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Big Houses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753132
Comments: 16
Kudos: 164





	Tap Against The Glass (But I'm Not Coming Out)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BuggreAlleThis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuggreAlleThis/gifts).



_368 AD._

_Somewhat north of Hadrian's Wall_

Crowley hadn't meant to take credit for singlehandedly engineering The Great Conspiracy of 368. It had just... sort of happened. He hadn't even embellished his report or anything - his lot just made assumptions about the extent of his involvement.

This might have gone badly, were it not for Hell's version of accountability. They had one, when they could be arsed; lately, it took the form of easily-impressed little squads of lesser demons sent topside to gawk, who had thus far continued to cement Crowley's reputation as the guy who got results. A lucky break, on the whole, that might open up whole new possibilities for keeping his bosses from breathing down his neck. At the moment, however, a contingent was assigned to his area, and the kids were still on his lawn.

Crowley sniffed the air.

In the trees, technically - he didn't quite have eyes on them, but they were on the move, all a-twitter with vicious glee. They hadn't captured something so much as cornered it, like a pack of dogs worrying a wounded stag, not daring to make the lunge in case he was still more dangerous than he looked. Crowley couldn't quite pick out the nature of their quarry, apart from a whiff of a protective talisman or two that the locals used to shoo off occult forces. Nothing that was up to snuff to work on Crowley, but there was enough overlap in mischief between the forces of Hell and the nearby fae, so it wasn't a half bad job. Not enough to hold them off forever, but apparently enough to make them work for it.

Poor bugger was heading straight for an ambush, since a couple the demons beat him to the clearing in the valley. The others flushed him out, and they converged on him. A Roman deserter or escaped prisoner, possibly. Why they were bothering a passing human was beyond him - maybe they saw the charms and decided to have a go.

Their target repelled a couple of the imps with one of the charms, and then up and _grabbed_ one from the air and lobbed it at the nearest Eric, slowing him down by a few steps. Crowley was just getting interested when another one knocked his round woollen cap off.

Crowley squinted at the puff of white hair, sniffed the air again, and blessed.

He redistributed his form into a flock of crows and launched himself off the ridge, cawing with a hundred voices. (Actually about thirteen voices, which was a good number to make a flock look impressive without having to keep track of too many moving parts.)

It was more of a scrabble than an all-out brawl - lots of taunting and stumbling about in the mud - but Aziraphale fought like... well. Like a scared prisoner at the Coliseum. He'd seen Aziraphale in a confrontation once or twice, and that had involved a lot more hand-wringing. Now, there was a mudball straight between the eyes, and a lot of elbows aimed at jaws and stomachs, and not a miracle in sight. Not from his end, anyway, but the others kept lobbing lots of low-level bits of nastiness at him, and were chipping away at his protections. He was a good fighter, Crowley had to hand it to him, but an unarmed and outnumbered one, and the jeering grew louder as they tore away the talismans and wrestled him to a standstill.

Crowley landed in a flurry of caws and beating wings, his human-shaped form emerging from the cloud of black feathers, which settled into a long heavy tunic and cloak. Blue paint scrolled in spirals across his skin, and his irises spread gold from corner to corner. He strode the last few paces towards the fray, and whistled sharply. They all stilled.

"Well, well. Caught yourselves an angel, have you?"

One of the imps snapped to attention and blurted out "All hail Satan!"

"Yes, quite right. Well, this is all very impressive, although -" he surveyed them all with an air of bemusement. Aziraphale locked eyes with him, and his look of terrified entreaty _was not helpful_ so he addressed the demon with the mongoose on his head who seemed to be the ringleader and said, "Can't help but wonder what exactly it was you were planning to do with him?"

"Teach him a lesson!" one of the Erics piped up.

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Anything else?" he prompted as he began to circle them. They glanced between each other.

"Bind him and drag him before our Lord and Master's throne?" proposed a second imp.

"Yes, that's the general idea, I'm sure," Crowley drawled. "But that's going to have to go down the chain of command, isn't it? Official channels, and all. Trying to get an angel through the gates is probably going to ruffle some feathers if you haven't got proper clearance. More than just his feathers, anyway."

More furtive looks amongst each other. "Yeah, well, we saw him first," the mongoose-demon argued.

Crowley chuckled pityingly, then sobered his expression into something harder. "And I'm sure you thought that slipping him past me was going to be your ticket to promotion, but I don't think you thought this through. First off, how long was your little alliance going to last, hmm? 'S not like they were going to reward all of you. You know how they pick favourites."

"You'd know all about how they pick favourites, wouldn't you," Eric-on-the-left sniped.

Crowley shrugged. "Out-of-the-box thinking, upstarts, it's what they pay me for. I suppose it's occurred to none of you that Upstairs might try to get one of their people down among us to have a look 'round, get the edge on our next move. Oh, sure, he's powerless _now,_ but you can bet that's just until they're ready to recall him. Be a bit of a bad look if you were responsible for another Harrowing of Hell."

Mongoose-demon squinted at him.

"Not your fault, of course -" Crowley went on. "Not like you were around for the fall of Troy, and they just don't teach you these things Down There. I mean, _I_ certainly wouldn't blame you - I can see you're all very dedicated to the cause of rubbing Heaven's face in it, and ambitious and back-stabby a bunch as any self-respecting horde could be. But that's the thing, isn't it? Bosses will have their scapegoats, same as they pick favourites."

Two of the imps were hovering at eye-level, tracking his movements. Crowley completed his circuit, surveyed them all again, and tossed his hair over his shoulder.

"So here's what I propose. You turn him over to me for questioning like you're supposed to without a fuss, and I forget all about how you did your level worst to oust me and let you get on with things. I mean," Crowley added with mock thoughtfulness, "that also spares you the trouble of having to take each other out of the equation while you're all vying for credit, and risk him escaping in the process. Wouldn't like to be any of you lot if that happened."

"Look, he's right, this wasn't the plan," said the imp who had saluted. "And our passes are about to expire, we should just go."

"Hang on!" Mongoose-demon scowled. "He's trying to tempt us! He just wants the angel for himself!"

"Well, there's that too. " Crowley grimaced, pretended it was a smirk. Aziraphale's eyes darted to his, then away. "Could put in a bad word for you about how you showed a remarkable bit of initiative in his capture, if that sweetens the pot any. Maybe they'll keep giving you some interesting assignments topside."

"Like it makes any difference," said Eric-on-the-left, already starting to sink into the mud. "We're not eligible for promotion anyway."

Crowley winced sympathetically. "Sorry, lads." He waggled his fingers at the two Erics as they disappeared with tandem squelches.

"Can we watch you interrogate him, though?" the second airborne imp asked eagerly.

"What do you think this is, a job-shadowing program?" said Crowley, amiable but with an edge of warning.

Mongoose-demon's eyes glowed red. (It often crossed Crowley's mind that the hierarchy of Hell might look very different if their creature forms matched the traits of their earthly counterparts, though this was probably the first time he was glad of it.)

"If you want the angel, you can take him off me yourself."

"Fine." Crowley rolled his eyes, teeth and nails elongating, wings sweeping out behind him as the other demon squared up. Mostly a distraction - he waved his hand and Aziraphale's talismans glowed and sparked where they were laying in the mud. The three imps were buffeted back by a confluence of waves rippling out from each one, and mongoose-demon yelped and dropped his hold. Crowley closed the distance between them, caught hold of Aziraphale's tunic and hauled him back a pace or two, mantling his wings around the two of them.

It was a recognizably predatory behaviour. Hawks did it all the time.

"Got you, _angel_." It came out more as a mutter than the snarl he'd intended, but Aziraphale hunched in beside him, looking suitably cowed, and Crowley figured he might as well save it for the rest of them. "I think you've all tried my patience long enough. Get lossssst."

Mongoose-demon made a rude gesture as he let the ground swallow him up. Dazed and glassy-eyed, two of the imps disappeared with a sizzle.

"So, uh, is that a no on recommendations then?" the third asked vaguely, and this time Crowley managed a snarl, though it was more irritable than vicious.

"Leave a sigil card on my desk," he snapped, and the imp saluted. Crowley rolled his eyes. "Nice to know my name's good for something around here."

And then they were alone.

A chill wind riffled Crowley's feathers. He tilted his head and inspected Aziraphale, who didn't seem too damaged from the scuffle - just weary, and haunted, and terribly muddy.

"It would appear," Aziraphale mumbled, something cautious and frail twitching in the corner of his mouth, "that I am at your mercy."

"So you are," Crowley drawled, trying to sound as if he had any idea what he was going to do about it. "Right. Well," he said when Aziraphale didn't offer anything else. "Since you're -" he made a stilted gesture, "now my prisoner and all, I guess I'd better, um, march you back to my.. _._ demonic lair. Before anybody else shows up and gets _ideas_ about trying to _steal my catch._ "

"I suppose you must." Still with that tremulous, unbearable _thing_ flickering in his face that Crowley didn't dare name, because it would probably be something obnoxious like _hope_.

He curled a hand around Aziraphale's upper arm - a telegraphed movement, slow and deliberate. Calculated to look menacing, obviously. If Aziraphale stiffened instinctively, so much the better.

If his arm grew heavy in Crowley's grip, leaden with relief under blunted talons, well. Nobody watching would be able to tell the difference.

* * *

Crowley had lately been holing up in an old stone broch, overlooking the valley. The two of them made their way up the ridge in silence, which was a first for them both, really, but Aziraphale was still subdued and hollow-eyed, and Crowley was trying to keep a look-out anyway.

Their previous encounters had all been fairly public, and always on an equal footing. They could be excused for not clashing on those terms. Well, Crowley could, at least. He wasn't expected to engage the Enemy face to face. He certainly wasn't expected to gain the advantage.

It had taken him a good couple millennia of sidling up and needling Aziraphale to get over the idea of potential smitings, each time half-convinced that day on the wall was a fluke. And _then_ the angel had taken it in his head to sidle up and tease Crowley back. Bit of a game-changer, that meeting in Rome, and he still hadn't felt like he had the hang of the new rules.

Nothing on this, though. He'd been relying on the idea that they weren't being watched before, but now they might well be. Better not get too chatty until they were inside. He did keep his place pretty well-warded, though - liked his naps somewhere people wouldn't bother him - so barring Orders From Below straight to the braincells, they should be fairly off the map.

"Shoes off here," Crowley said briskly once they were in the anteroom. He banished his cloak and boots to the side wall, and made a curt gesture at Aziraphale's tunic while he was distracted with peeling off his sodden - suddenly dry - boots and socks. "'S enough mud outside, I don't need it getting tracked in," he added before Aziraphale could say anything. "Go on through, sit wherever, I need to lock up."

He sealed up the doorway, glamoured it into stonework for good measure, and followed Aziraphale into the main hall. He snapped the hearthfire and the mounted torches alight - standard-issue flame - and did his best to ignore Aziraphale's curious inspection.

"You're awfully pleased with yourself, I suppose," said Aziraphale eventually.

"Mh?" Crowley said casually.

The room _had_ arranged itself to his satisfaction in accordance with the hasty, remote redecoration effort he'd made in the last five minutes of the trek up the ridge. Clean thresh, a fancy tapestry and rug from a haul when he'd been running around with the traders farther north. Gleaming shield and spears on the wall; cushions from the pocket dimension when he'd packed in from his last place in Turkey, having realized they were going to need somewhere to sit. (He'd just been perching in the rafters a lot lately.)

Aziraphale gestured at nothing in particular. "They're calling it The Great Conspiracy. Your doing, as I understand?"

"Oh." Crowley snorted. "My lot's had their hands full with all sorts of internal nonsense, so I've really just been skiving off. Came up this way between assignments because I was tired of the Romans. Turns out, even the Romans are tired of the Romans! Been - hang on, I've got mead in the pantry. Wine, too, now I think of it," he called over his shoulder, wandering across the hall. "D'you want anything to eat? The locals think I'm one of their fae, they keep leaving things out for me. None of your dainty... bloody lark's tongues or what have you, but they do some decent cheeses."

It sounded like Aziraphale murmured something in assent, so he dug out said cheeses, and little loaves of bread and pots of cream - and some apples he swiped from a nearby orchard, for the sake of it - and glared it all over to the table up the side of the hall so he could carry the jug and goblets.

"Anyway. I'd been faffing around by the wall a bit," Crowley went on, unstoppering the mead. "Scared some horses, stole some socks, tempted some guards to desertion. Might've contributed to the whole thing, suppose every little bit helps - anyway, next thing I know, the Picts have made their move, turns out so has the whole - half?" Crowley frowned. "...Whole western half of the empire. Got hold of enough names and movements to keep my lot reasonably up to speed, and they just assumed I'd done it. Pleased as anything, so with any luck I can skive off for the next century or two."

"Do you think you'll get away with it?" Aziraphale was huddled near the stone hearth, but he seemed to have brightened into a familiar fretfulness.

"Well, you've seen what passes for quality control on my end."

"True. Charming place you've got, by the way," he said, with apparent sincerity.

Crowley thunked the jug onto the wooden table and drew himself up with an offended noise. "Wh- no! You take that back!"

The petulance it came off with was intentional, of course.

Well.

It had the desired effect, anyway.

"Oh, right. No, of course not," said Aziraphale. "I mean to say, it's _very,_ erm, _imposing._ Perfectly _malevolent_ sort of... fortress."

"'S more like it,' Crowley said haughtily, and poured the mead.

* * *

Inch by inch, sip by sip, Aziraphale's shoulders settled and his cheeks regained colour.

Crowley burned away the last few splatters of melted cheese from the pan over the fire, and went to grab another jug. The hall had grown plenty warm even as night fell, but Aziraphale had barely shifted from his spot by the hearth. He frowned into it, eyes glittering.

Crowley could have pestered answers out of him easy enough, but he had a pretty good knack by now for knowing when someone was working their way up to a subject, and it wasn't like they were in a rush. Instead, he had nattered on about the Romans and the tiresomeness thereof (a subject which could keep him occupied all evening if he was at liberty to natter with impunity), and how that weird cult that sprang up in the wake of that nice young man they'd nailed up was getting out of hand and kept coming up with new ways to make his life difficult.

"Top-up?"

"Lovely." Aziraphale sighed, flicked his gaze over the lip of his goblet to where Crowley had flopped down on the cushions, and glanced away again. "So. What happens next? I notice I still have yet to be, ah, bound and dragged before your Master's throne."

"Yeah. Dunno," Crowley muttered. "'S not like there's much of a precedent for this. What even is 'this,' anyway? Did you run yourself out on something big?"

Aziraphale hesitated. "Something like that." Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't really matter, now, but yes, that's more or less what happened."

"Dragging their feet on getting you restored, aren't they?" Aziraphale shrugged. "Does it work differently for you?" Crowley asked.

"...Does what?"

"Your access to the miracle budget. Must do, our whole department changes hands practically every other decade. I say department, _technically_ there's a department and a whole headache of red tape, but everybody cheats anyway, so it's practically a free-for-all."

"Well. I suppose it must, then. It goes without saying that Heaven's accounting department is perfectly scrupulous and thorough."

"Alright, so you're waiting for dispensation, wouldn't they earmark something a little more urgent if they're assigning you smack in a hotspot of demonic activity?"

Aziraphale scowled at him. "If you think you can get me to give up information about the workings of divine power -"

"Well, I should at least be telling the bosses I tried, eh? Look, give me something to work with. Party line, at least, I'm gonna have reports to fill out."

Aziraphale sighed. "They've... done some reallocations. Busy time and all, what with your _weird cult_ becoming more well-established. Requires a, erm. Bigger-picture approach. Gabriel thinks I've become a bit too narrow in focus recently," he added ruefully.

"The fuck does that even mean," Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale shrugged.

"Narrow in focus?" Crowley repeated suddenly, loud and indignant. "You? Narrow in focus, my arse, 'ooh, the Almighty's plans are _ineffable,'_ if you're 'narrow in focus' then it's a wonder the rest of them can even pick out this tiny little rock out of all the other rocks in an entire universe full of rocks!"

"Oh, well, that's -" Aziraphale gave him a grateful look. "Rather nice of you to say, actually."

Crowley scowled. "Never mind that it's been driving me up the wall since - well, since you drove me up the Wall."

"Don't recall that I did much driving. You seemed self-propelled enough."

"Anyway -" Crowley retraced a few steps to where he'd dropped his mental ball of thread. "What's Gabriel playing at? No emergency fund, no nothing. _Narrow in focus_ , sounds like he made that up."

"Mm. No."

Ooh, there was something around that corner, in the dark.

"No? Well, maybe not. You'd know better than me, I'm sure." Crowley tiptoed around it, trying to get the shape. "I just think it looks fishy, is all. Like he found whatever excuse was on hand to cut you out of the limelight while they're gearing up for hitherto untold Great Plans, post you out here behind enemy lines with no back-up, like that - who was that prat? Too bloody many of them, but I know there's a specific one. Big deal back in the day, with the, the rocks, and the soldier who fancied his wife? Or was she the soldier's wife?"

"The latter. Consider your point noted." Aziraphale fussed with the little iron pan that had since cooled on the hearth stones, picking at the bits of melted cheese with a fingernail.

"Well, could have turned out worse, anyway. My lot's sending little squads like that last bunch up everywhere, trying to suss out just how big this is getting. Half the Empire's absolutely swarming with them. Enemy lines everywhere." Crowley watched him out the corner of his eye. "That why they sent you here? Thought it'd be nice and out of the way?"

"Well - yes, actually." Aziraphale brightened. "That and Gabriel said it would be a good place to direct my energies. Start laying some groundwork out here. A few of the big developments are supposed to be spreading this way in the next century or two."

Crowley squinted at him. "Just gonna give up information on the workings of divine power, huh?"

Aziraphale faltered. "Well. Well, the biggest reason for secrecy would have been to keep The Enemy from getting interested in this place and sending one of their agents. But you're here already. And it's not like I've told you what the big developments _are._ Besides, it's all in the service of the Great Plan. I'd say there isn't much you could do about it."

" _Hold on,"_ said Crowley. "Aren't you supposed to keep tabs on me?" Aziraphale looked guilty - specifically, 'gave away his flaming sword' guilty, as opposed to his perpetual veneer of low-key assumed guilt over - well, everything else. "What was it you said that one time? You're supposed to 'maintain intelligence of the whereabouts and activities of The Enemy, and impede his Evil Doings?' Didn't you know I was here?" Aziraphale wouldn't look at him, and Crowley knew he'd cornered something, snuffling in the center of the maze.

For Aziraphale to be sent here, Heaven would have to - oh.

_Fuck._

Crowley wasn't too terribly sloshed yet, but he sobered up sharpish, triumph dissipating with the alcohol.

"Cause it's fishy," he said numbly. "Said it was fishy, didn't I. 'Course they're not shunting you off, that'd be stupid, that'd be a waste. I was already thinking, what would I tell them? What'd I already tell them back there? Powerless angel, perfect bait, who knows what might have happened if I brought you down to Hell, would have played right into their hands, couldn't have that."

"I'm afraid I don't..." Aziraphale risked a glance at him - confused, but a shifty sort of confused, like when you pretend to be confused about something to keep them talking. Crowley was good at that one. "What?"

"Is this a - are they using you for something? You don't have to tell me too much, you can, can rend your garments and wobble your lip at me if I'm on the right track."

 _Fuck, shitshitshit, fuck, was it about him specifically, did they know about Rome, were they using Aziraphale like this on purpose? Oh, shit, don't say that out loud, don't admit to anything -_ _"_ Do they just want Downstairs out of the way of the Great Plan, 'cause I can scarper, I'm not even properly on assignment, give me a head-start and I can be out of here and you can tell them - something, I don't know, tell them you sent me packing and I didn't even put up a fight, it'd be true anyway -"

_Shit shit shit what if this was Aziraphale's idea, what if he realized Crowley's weakness and told Heaven he could use it against him - no, maybe it's not his fault, maybe they found out and he had to, maybe he doesn't want to do this -_

"I - no, Crowley stop." Aziraphale flapped a hand at him and then pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do shut up a moment."

Crowley blinked once, slowly. The hall came back into focus. He un-hunched from his defensive crouch.

"Oh," said Aziraphale, given the moment to think about it. "I see. That's - well, that's very clever. Too clever by half, I think; only you could have come up with a scheme like that."

"Thanks?" Crowley shook his head, like he was trying to clear water from his ears, and raked a hand through his hair, grimacing when it snagged on three different tangles and a braid. "I mean, _you_ could've, but it didn't really seem your style. Would have made it more clever for that."

"Heaven's not - it's not a scheme." Aziraphale looked away. "No one's coming."

"I'm still missing something, what am I missing? How did you get here? And don't tell me it was a coincidence, and don't even _think_ about saying it was _ineff-_ "

"You're not missing anything, alright?" Aziraphale burst out, face tightening miserably. "I interfered with something I shouldn't have, I _didn't know._ They were going to reassign me elsewhere and that seemed reasonable, but -" he wrapped his arms around himself. "But Gabriel said he couldn't risk having me pull another stunt. I would have to keep a low profile, he said it would be a probationary period until this all cleared up. So I... I couldn't stop myself, I said, 'please, just don't send me to Britannia, please, you can't, they've stationed the Enemy at Hadrian's Wall, I'll be defenseless -"

Crowley had banished the corporeal symptoms of his panic, only to discover that it left lots of hollow, empty spaces for cold and heavy things to settle in.

"And then he _did, obviously,_ there was all that bit about groundwork, and I'm - maybe that was the price I was supposed to pay for - for _doubting_ and _testing,_ and what if he knew that's what I was doing, and what if they knew I was... but they've never said anything about meetng you in Rome, they've never brought it up and there's no possible way they would just let that slide when they'd do _this_ over a bad call with a revelation, I thought they were just dissatisfied -"

"Wait, hold up, my turn." Crowley held a hand up, new flickers of warmth unfurling in the hollow spaces. "You asked him not to send you here." Something hooked in the corner of his mouth, tugging it upwards. "'Cause you thought he might actually do it? Like that time I got myself thrown into a snake pit?"

"Where do you think I got the idea?" Aziraphale said despairingly. "Rub the salt in _,_ why don't you?"

Crowley got one solid, single, entire moment to be absolutely delighted, and he really ought to have just frozen things right there for a second, if pausing time worked like that on himself, which it didn't. In any case, the rest of the implications caught up and engulfed it.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale protested when the hearthfire went _fwoomp_.

" _Shit,_ sssorry." Crowley glared at the fire and shushed it venomously. It banked into a low, roiling sulk. "That's not, it's just regular fire - and it'll _behave itself_ if it knows what's good for it," he added, warning it with a look. One of the logs popped sullenly. He hissed back at it. "Great blistering pits, Aziraphale, you're telling me they actually did take a leaf from what's-his-face and plunked you out here on purpose?"

" _What's-his-face,_ indeed. And yes," Aziraphale said testily. "That does seem to be the case. Happy now?"

Crowley stared at him. A branch snapped and sparked in the hearth. "I'm getting more mead."

"Oh, yes, do."

* * *

Aziraphale hadn't so much relaxed after his outburst as _slumped,_ settling amongst the cushions and curling inward, still watching the fire. A bit human, that - one of those rituals and pasttimes born of survival instincts that were alien to them. Going along to blend in, the both of them, until pattern begat habit begat second nature. Probably the first either of them had adopted - Aziraphale was still working on breathing, the first time they'd bumped into each other at the same fire circle - and nearly every time reminded Crowley of The Beginning, and a far-off flicker in the desert. 

"I was at a festival in Germania," Aziraphale said with a certain air of resignation, apropos of - what, precisely, Crowley wasn't sure yet, but probably of the reason he was now making inroads on Crowley's good wine. "Town of Moguntiacum. Turns out the Alemanni were a bit sore over their defeat last fall, and, well, the emperor wasn't home. So they..." He swallowed hard.

Crowley got the picture, and made a suitably comprehending noise. He took up a comb to untangle his hair and tie it back, then let his wings out. They didn't really need much grooming, but it gave him something to do with his hands.

"There wasn't a proper garrison or anything. No chance for them to mount a defense. And it was - well, it was a raid of Alemanni, it wasn't like they were scheduled for a smiting. _Obviously_ I ought not to interfere with divine wrath. But it was a human incursion, and a holy festival, and I was _there._ I didn't even really think about it. And yes, alright, maybe I got a bit carried away while I was trying to frighten off their assailants, but as far as I knew, the new policy about 'authorized revelations only' was still in draft mode -" Aziraphale paused, far away and desolate, finishing his cup.

"And... nobody bothered to tell you it was no longer in draft mode, eh?" Crowley tipped his left wing down to smooth out the leading edge, and let his right extend out, curving behind Aziraphale's back. A reflex. For balance's sake. Didn't even notice he was doing it.

"Well, that rather depends on who you ask. Gabriel said that I ought to remember that -" Aziraphale made a face and flattened out some vowels, declaring " - _turnaround for implementation is highly efficient."_

Crowley, having reached for his mead at the mention of Gabriel, snorted around a mouthful and winced as it nearly went up his nose.

"He said that what I thought was notice of upcoming procedure was, in fact, notice of new procedure," Aziraphale went on, bolstered by Crowley's indignant noises and shooting little hopeful glances at the wine jug by Crowley's knee. "I told him I had no doubt they'd sent me the appropriate confirmation memo, but given that I am typically operating on a plane bound to linear time, it must not have reached me yet."

"Oooh," said Crowley, pouring him another cup. "What'd he say?"

"Hm? Oh, he was clearly a bit put-out, but he couldn't very well argue the point when he's told me the same thing whenever he misses my outgoing correspondence." Aziraphale wriggled his shoulders back and pasted on a self-important expression. " _You're lucky it was a reasonable misunderstanding, Aziraphale, we might have had to write you up for disobedience, Aziraphale._ "

"Satan's frozen bollocks _,_ are you kidding me?" Crowley burst out, sloshing the wine a bit, half-laughing. Aziraphale did Gabriel-impressions, and wasn't _that_ a thing? "Hang on, is this only around humans, or are you forbidden from that around my lot, too? Because apart from everything else, that's a _stupid policy._ "

"No idea," Aziraphale mumbled around the back of his hand, trying to smother a giggle and catch the spilled drops at the same time. "You know why?"

"Why?"

"'Cause _I'm_ not consulted on policy decisions." He'd gone a little sing-song.

"Well, most of Hell's little gangs should be getting recalled soon enough. Gives you a bit of time before you have to find out."

"Oh," said Aziraphale, gazing at Crowley with even more of that intolerable gratitude. "Well. That's certainly a relief. In any case, he said the whole thing'd spur the Emperor on to his next movements. There's to be a battle at Soli... something or other. Once they're sure it's all ticking along as it should be, they'll be able to reinstate my access."

"Something or other?" Crowley prompted, skeptical that Aziraphale had just tuned out information about the Great Plan.

"Well, it's not like they want me to be there," Aziraphale said petulantly. "They want me to... not be there."

"But why? I mean, you got a bit carried away with the wings and the fear of God and all, you'd think that'd be their thing."

"That was where the -" Aziraphale waggled a hand. "'Narrow in focus' bit came in. Pulled me out, took me for a stroll 'round the Observation Tower, something about... getting perspet - persec - big-picture. _You can't go around interfering every time the humans give in to wrath and bloodshed, Aziraphale, shouldn't you be used to this by now, Aziraphale?"_

Crowley didn't realize his grin had faded until the ache of it was no longer tugging at his cheeks. "He made you watch?"

"No! Well, yes, I-" Aziraphale's face froze. "Oh, dear, you make it sound so..." His eyes skittered away to the fire again; surprised, then bewildered.

"He made you watch," Crowley repeated, voice flat, unable to decide between the whole slew of possible reactions. Well. Appalled might have been pretty high on the list, but 'surprised' didn't so much as rate a mention. He could picture it, even - Aziraphale distressed and beseeching as Gabriel prattled on with all the detached distaste of a bored senator at the Coliseum, and all the fighters showed up Above or Below anyway so it wasn't like it _mattered,_ did it?

"It's not the same for him," Aziraphale said eventually. "Nor should I expect it to be. If it were, he wouldn't be reminding me of my duties." There was a different edge to his voice now, a note of finality.

Crowley ignored it. "The ones that... don't involve compassion for your Earthly charges? Not an expert, obviously, but I thought that was part of your whole -" Crowley waved a hand irritably, " - _thing._ While we're at it, surely Gabriel's capable of it, isn't he? Comes with the territory, doesn't it? Why shouldn't he understand what it's like?"

" _Clearly,_ " said Aziraphale, "his capacity for perspective and his trust in divine plans allow him to bear it better than I do."

"Sure. That's _definitely_ it."

Aziraphale gave him a haughty look, and Crowley gave him a mockingly haughty look in return, and took a drink. He set down the bottle and was about to go on when he caught sight of that same bewildered, skittering expression that crept back across Aziraphale's face and curled in on itself there.

" _OhforHeaven'ssake,_ " Aziraphale blurted out, and he clapped a hand over his own mouth, eyes wide and guilty for a half second before they welled up and spilled over.

Crowley held very still, keeping careful rein on his _entire,_ _blessed_ urge to just... engulf him completely, wrap him up in cloak and limbs and wings. Side affect of the business. Reassurance was an undervalued but remarkably key facet to temptation. Where Aziraphale was concerned, it was also a smidge too far.

"I ju-" Aziraphale's shoulders hitched. "Can't - not like usual. Be alright in a moment." He turned away and choked on a small noise. "Terribly sor -"

"Oh, come on," Crowley scoffed. "You've just been mercilessly interrogated by the Enemy. Pretty sure you're supposed to be upset by that. Can tell my lot you held out for hours, stubborn thing, but we got there in the end." Aziraphale untucked his head, face desolate and befuddled, and Crowley returned a hollow echo of a smirk. "Cry all you want, angel. Heaven can't hear you now."

Aziraphale stared at him. Then he ducked his head between his knees and clawed his hands into his tunic, shuddering violently.

Crowley had suspected that was going to be the ticket, but it didn't mean he wanted to be right about it.

Except...

"Hold on. Are you laughing at me?"

A hysterical noise burst out of the gap under Aziraphale's arm, and sure enough - between the sobbing, and the tears streaming, the angel was having an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.

"Was that - supposed to be - _menacing?_ " Aziraphale stuttered out, snagging up one of the cloths that had been wrapped around the bread and swiping at his eyes.

"Not like I was trying very hard," Crowley grumbled. "When I'm menacing you, you'll know it."

"My _dread adversary_ ," Aziraphale snorted.

"Yeah, thanks." Crowley crinkled up his nose and upper lip in a pissy face, and Aziraphale convulsed again.

And it was the ticket, if not in the way Crowley intended. The frantic edge of hilarity began to fade, but Aziraphale was still trembling and stifling increasingly more desolate noises into the impromptu handkerchief.

"Mind you - I did think -" he began in a gap between the waves, "- how many villages? Thought I could -"

"Yeah, talk after, okay?" said Crowley. "Unless you want to swear a bit. You'd be amazed how much that helps take the edge off."

"Don't want to swear." Aziraphale swiped at his eyes. "Want to _stop rattling._ How do the humans stand it? _"_ His hands twisted in one of the cloth wraps, shoulders hunched as the tremors scattered through them.

 _Bless it, bless it, fuck._ Crowley knew bloody well how, and it involved 'a smidge too far.'

"I mean, usually –" he began, not used to the 'can't believe I'm doing this' face from the wearing of it.

Aziraphale peered at him uncertainly. Crowley scooted over until they were side-by-side. He tipped his shoulder back and angled his head - like a right tit, Satan help him, he'd seen human adolescents pull this off with more dignity - but the invitation was apparent as he tried to gauge whether Aziraphale was going to bolt without staring him into acquiescing. It was easier when he had those dark eyeglasses. He might have to get hold of some again.

Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath and his face crumpled again, furiously conflicted.

"Fairly - fairly certain I mustn't."

"No more than I should," Crowley conceded. "Owe you one, though, don't I?"

"I hardly think..." Another skittering glance - to the ceiling, to the curve of Crowley's wing, to the hearthfire.

"Up to you. I won't tell if you don't."

Aziraphale whispered something that sounded suspiciously like 'forgive me' before he sank against Crowley's side, reaching up to cling to the slender arms that wound around him. He muffled a noise into the front of Crowley's tunic.

"Oh, you're _warm,"_ he murmured, still shivering like a night-watch soldier with no socks.

"Hey," Crowley murmured, sticking his nose into the pale fluff of hair above his ear. " _Got you_ , angel."

"Oh, good lord." Aziraphale made another noise; a sort of damp, hiccupy giggle. "Merciless fiend, your menace knows no bounds." His shoulders hitched, and he shivered even harder. "S'not stopping. Thought you said this would help."

"Making it stop doesn't help, making it stop just makes it worse," Crowley said with a faint, directionless exasperation. He dug his his chin into the top of Aziraphale's head and chafed his hands along the linen sleeves over his upper arms. "The rattling and the leaking and all, that _is_ how they stand it."

"Awfully undignified," Aziraphale muttered.

"I know. Whose idea was that, anyway?" Crowley crinkled his nose up at the ceiling. "Does the trick, though. Even I've got to go have a good long screech every other month or so, just to keep everything ticking along as it should. 'N the humans only have to live through so many sackings and pillagings before their luck runs out. Like you said, how many have we seen?" Aziraphale let out a sob by way of reply. "Exactly. Too _bloody_ many, and it doesn't get easier, it only gets more awful and more tedious. I reckon the fact that they haven't learned to stop by now just makes it worse every time they do it again. Getting yanked out in the middle of trying to help probably didn't do you any favours," he added. Aziraphale twisted his head up to try to meet his eyes, blinking away tears and searching, studying him. "Are you - are you _actually_ listening to me? Stop that, you're supposed to be crying right now."

Aziraphale was staring at his mouth. By the time Crowley registered this, Aziraphale had already leaned up and kissed him.

Satan's sake. One of these days, he was going to kiss the angel first, and then the shoe would really be on the other foot.

Aziraphale'd had to crane up a bit at a funny angle, so it was brief and wobbly, a damp smudge of salt and wine at the corner of Crowley's mouth. Aziraphale untwisted and faced the hearth again, but Crowley could tell right when it sank in, pressed near as he was to the angel's hummingbird heartrate and the flush of heat at the back of his neck.

"Crowley," he said; a small, thin sound. "I can't sober up."

"Nnh. Right." Crowley grimaced, trying to get a grip. "That's not going to be fun later. Dunno what would happen if I tried to -" he waved his hand vaguely upwards, " - for you. May just have to do this the human way." He squeezed Aziraphale's arms again and reached for the nearest cup, regretfully miracling the contents into water and pressing it into his hands. Aziraphale drank, peered into it, and made a noise equal parts woebegone and offended. Crowley snickered into the top of his head. "Finish that off," he said. "Or don't, whatever." He gestured into the air in front of them, miming with an invisible stylus. " _Upon concluding interrogations, I proceeded to subject the angelic prisoner to further indignities and torments, including that most dreadful of human inventions known as the hangover."_

"Point taken," Aziraphale grumbled, downing the rest.

He spoke no more for a long while after. When the stifled sobs and the tremors faded off, Crowley hadn't dared stir, except to give the ceiling an earful, so to speak, through a series of eloquent glares and scowls. He was just about wrapped up with that when Aziraphale shifted and... rubbed his face against the hollow of Crowley's throat, _fuck's sake,_ he still wasn't sober enough to deal with this.

"What happens when you tell your people about this?" Aziraphale whispered, and _nope,_ Crowley wasn't sober enough to deal with that either.

He made a rude noise in the direction of the hearth, embers casting a sleepy glow instead of their customary eerie gloom. "I reckon they'll buy it, if I say it's a security fiasco waiting to happen. They don't always listen well when it comes to human stuff, but nobody really wants that kind of tangle with Upstairs if they can help it. Wouldn't want to risk a reprisal from your lot. I might even get orders to let you go, if they take it seriously enough." He frowned. "You planning to tell your people?"

"I certainly ought to," Aziraphale said mournfully.

"Never mind ought _,_ if Gabriel put me in danger like that, I'd want to tell him 'I told you so.'"

"I can't just tell Gabriel 'I told you so.' He'll know I didn't manage to keep a low profile. It's going to be a nightmare, there'll have to be an inquiry -" Aziraphale started trembling again. "Oh, they'll find out I told you everything, they'll be _furious._ "

"Well, it's that or tell him nothing happened to you, and he'll just be insufferable about how you needn't have worried in the first place. You're right, it's a no-win, he'll be insufferable regardless." Aziraphale said nothing. "Listen -" Crowley coiled his arms tighter and wrapped his hands around Aziraphale's. "Listen, I have to tell my lot because I've got witnesses, right, but nobody's telling Heaven about this. Last thing we want is Heaven knowing about this. I mean, if they actually believed Heaven would turn a blind eye when one of their own was in trouble, that'd be a different story, but I can tell you now, I'd have a harder time convincing them of _that_ than I would of the security fiasco."

Aziraphale's hands shifted under his. " _You_ clearly believe it."

"Sure, but it's not my fault Hell's slow on the uptake. I know when I'm wasting my breath." Crowley hooked his chin into Aziraphale's shoulder. "Would it be so awful, if you just didn't tell Heaven?"

"You can't possibly be suggesting that I... withhold information from my superiors?"

"Is it withholding information if they barely listen to a word you say?" Crowley said expansively.

"You're trying to tempt me, aren't you? Into taking the easy way out."

"Ehhh," Crowley conceded. "I mean, I don't see what the point is in making this harder on yourself than it is already, you've got me there."

"It's about _integrity,"_ Aziraphale argued. " _You_ might be able to get away with letting them think all sorts of things, but I have a higher standard to maintain."

"Said you didn't tell them about Rome, didn't you? Why should this be any different?" Crowley grinned into the side of his neck. "I also think Gabriel would be _so annoyed_ if he shunted you out here on purpose to try to make you Hell's problem and you just... slipped through our clutches and got on with things. Nothing cheers my shriveled demonic soul like the constipated expression of a stymied archangel."

"You're a horrible fiend," Aziraphale said without heat.

"Thanks. And another thing, the fact that you consider _not_ telling them you were gravely imperiled by the Enemy to be the easy way out is frankly a bit -"

" _Crowley."_ Aziraphale tensed in his arms, but slumped farther into him instead of twisting away.

Crowley bit his tongue, bit down _you came to me, you trusted me, you knew I would protect you when they wouldn't._ "Alright. Look, 'sss late and you're drunk. Don't have to do anything right now. Sleep on it, at least, huh?"

"'M an angel," Aziraphale fretted. "I don't sleep."

"You could try it. It helps." Aziraphale made a skeptical noise. "Gets you a bit farther away from all the rotten things that can happen to you in a day. Or decade, or whatever. And 's not like you've got any reason to keep vigil right now, is it? No duties to attend to. No assignments to fulfill. No skirmishing humans to go fuss over. I mean," Crowley went on, voice low and meandering, "there'll always be skirmishing humans to fuss over, but it's not like there's anything you can do about that from in here. No evil deeds or acts of malice to thwart, either. The only evil-doer within a mille-passus has an enemy prisoner to guard. He's done his share of deeds for today and doesn't feel like getting up to anything else right now."

Aziraphale offered no counter-arguments. His shoulders rose and fell, even and steady.

"Got the hang of breathing eventually, didn't you?" Crowley craned his neck gingerly, peering around to see - yep. Shuttered lids, damp lashes. "Bit odd at first, but you get used to it. Used to sleep with my eyes open. Hadn't got the hang of having eyelids, mind you. Think I'm going to give up blinking as a bad job as it is. Know what else is a bad job? Getting a crick in your neck. You'll have a nasty one later, along with the hangover. Last week I tried roosting with my head stuck in my wings. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but the _noises_ it made after..." Crowley trailed off. "Well, that's something else to put off dealing with 'til later, eh?"

He exhaled a slow draft of air, lifting his cloak and wafting it around them. The coals glowed gently in the wake of the current as it settled.

"Good night, angel."

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in January because I wanted some tropey h/c as a side project, and *gestures vaguely* here we are. Title is from Big Houses by Squalloscope, which is my emotional support Aziraphale song. History research consisted of bopping around Wikipedia, looking for something between 41 and 537 with relatively significant events wherein I could expect them to be nearby, not doing their jobs. I'm intending for there to be a flashback to Rome 41 AD (there was one and it got too big to be a flashback in here) and a post-series coda, whenever I get the bastards out of developmental hell.


End file.
